Papa I Love You
by Akira Cat
Summary: Matthew volunteers to help Francis clean out his storage room of antiques he collected over the centuries. There was one particular object Matthew finds that he never expected to find in his papa's storage room. To think Francis kept it all this time... Originally from a contest on DA. Filled with fluffiness.


"You don't 'ave to 'elp me clean out my old sings," Francis plopped a cardboard box full of random antiques onto a wooden table; along with many other boxes he already placed. Matthew glanced at his adopted father while picking up another container filled with dusty objects.

"Oh no, I want to help you. Besides, many hands make light work, eh?" The Canadian smiled before showing Francis the box he held in his arms. "Where do you want me to put these?"

"Um… over zhere will do fine," The Frenchman pointed to another space on another oak table. "I need to see for myself what I should get rid of."

"Oh."

Matthew scanned for more cardboard boxes and other containers within the dimly lit basement. There were a lot of them, thirty containers at the most (or least) for he had accumulated them over history. And seeing how Francis was one of the older nations, there was a lot to go through. While Matthew wondered where to start and turned to Francis, sat in the middle of objects he already organized into piles, gazing at his hand in a trance like state. Matthew stepped over smaller boxes and antiques scattered around the room, before finding a space to stand. "Is something wrong papa?" Francis snapped his head to his adopted son and patted a space next to him, to which Matthew complied and lowered himself. After finding some comfort on the cold, concrete floor, Matthew tucked a piece of his blonde hair behind his ears to get a good look at a pair of dolls made of red, blue and pale yellow yarn (although on closer inspection, white was it's original colour). One looked like it wore a Hawaiian skirt while the other didn't but both dolls smiles had been stitched with black thread. Matthew glanced at Francis and the dolls. "What are they?"

Francis pointed to the doll without the skirt. "Nénette," he moved his index finger to the other doll. "Et Rintintin. Zhey were originally dolls made for children before zee First World War. Zen zey became good luck charms for soldiers and zee people of France." Francis stroked the dolls with his thumb as though lost in the sea of memories. Matthew let out a sigh; he supposed people got as much comfort as they could from whatever they could muster during any time of war. Many would consider the dolls rather comforting seeing how they were regarded as a couple in France. Maybe they symbolized an unbreakable bond, a promise, from soldiers to wives and children that they will return to them unharmed. Sadly, not everyone was able to keep their promise. Matthew hugged his knees: he remembered how Arthur had dragged him into the war because he was still part of the British Empire, despite having gained independence in 1867. He looked at the dolls again and found some comfort in them; in a time of uncertainty, they were the only things that probably told the soldiers, women and children that everything will be all right. He wondered how much comfort the dolls bought to Francis.

Suddenly, the Frenchman placed them in the pile nearest to him and stood up. "Zhey will go," he said flatly before rummaging through another box. Matthew pushed himself to his feet and watched his father figure, wondering how emotional he felt after dredging them up. He knew every nation found it difficult to clean out their closets, storage rooms, basements and cupboards of antiques they collected over the centuries. Matthew himself couldn't bear to throw away a lot of the things in his own basement. Like every nation, he would meander through strong memories, good and bad. It was amazing how there were so many emotional ties to all the objects in that one room.

"Ah! My old rapier!" Francis' exclamation snapped Matthew out of those thoughts and approached his father figure, holding the silver blade by the handle and the blade in his other hand. Matthew stared at the sword and straight away noticed it was in good condition considering the many times Francis used it. He could almost see the glee on the Frenchman's face like a child playing with their favourite toy, his smile unnerving Matthew a little. "'Ow many battles 'ave I used zis sword? I've lost count but I was quite zee fencer in my prime." He pointed the blade

Matthew couldn't deny that Francis was a strong nation; out of the 185 battles France as a nation participated, their armies' won 132 times, lost 43 and drew in 10. This gave the French military the best record in Europe. So why could people never take him seriously was a question that popped into Matthew's mind. Perhaps it was mainly to do with the loss of the battle of Waterloo and the time his country fell during the Second World War. Those moments were probably the ones Francis had a hard time fighting through, especially when Germany held him hostage. Even after the war, it took Francis at least a year to be able to speak after being mute; it scarred him greatly. Seeing dull blue eyes instead of sparkling ones worried Matthew but at least he returned to his flamboyant self afterwards. He was impressed that Francis still talked of love even after taking part in so many battles. Anyone would have thought he would act more hateful towards people and nations but such is the country of love.

While Francis admired his sword and mused to himself about displaying it in the hallway of his house, Matthew looked around the room until his eyes caught a cardboard box labeled "Canada". Curiously, he ambled towards it and took a quick glance at Francis before turning to the box and opened the flaps slowly. His eyes widened seeing many things he never expected his former guardian to have kept; a lot of them were pencil sketches of Matthew as an infant, awake, asleep and always smiling. There were more unusual objects like intricately carved Haidan sticks, his decayed yellow infant gown with the red bow at the centre of the collar and other things he could recognise. His hands delved to the bottom of the box until he touched what felt like a wooden frame. He pulled it out carefully and blinked in astonishment at the dusty picture frame he held in his hand. Matthew wiped the thick layer of grey dust off the glass, revealing letters. Using the sleeve of his red hoodie, the Canadian scrubbed it away until his violet eyes suddenly developed a teary haze. He knew exactly what was inside the frame. "Papa…" Matthew's voice stammered, his eyes still fixed on the writing. "It managed to reach you…"

Francis' attention was drawn away from the porcelain chicken in the French flag colours and set it on the table. "What reached me?"

Matthew choked behind the tears welling up in his eyes and placed his index finger on the top left corner of the frame. His lips quivered as he read the text in French.

"_Papa I love you,_

_I miss you, I do._

_Take my hand_

_Towards our homeland._

_When we go home_

_No longer alone._

_I want it to be_

_Just you and me_

_You make me smile_

_Like a crocodile._

_Lets stick together like glue_

_So we can become two._

_I like it when you cook me food_

_It's so yummy and it tastes good._

_I like it when you sing me songs_

_That makes me dream all night long. _

_Whenever I broke my toys_

_You fix it for me to enjoy._

_Whenever I feel sad_

_You hug and kiss me like a dad_

_That day when you said goodbye_

_All I did was cry and cry._

_I ran to you but I was too slow_

_I didn't want you to go._

"_Papa I love you,_

_I miss you, I do._

_Take my hand_

_Towards our homeland._

_When we go home_

_No longer alone._

_I want it to be_

_Just you and me."_

The tears that threatened to roll down Matthew's cheeks were quickly wiped away by the sleeve of his red hoodie, while the other hand held the picture frame. Although he felt Francis' hand clutch his shoulder and his face hovered above it, the Canadian didn't jump. They both gazed at the childlike scribbles. "I remember Art'ur giving me zat after I told you zat my government weren't going to take you back. I cried for days after reading zat."

Matthew could remember the day when Francis visited him. They had such a wonderful time; talking about what they got up to since Matthew went into Arthur's care, the well-being of their siblings and friends, and differences and similarities between their homes. A few songs were sung here and there, laughing at nonsensical things too. Then Francis had to go but before he could return to his country, Matthew grabbed his hand and asked the one question that shattered the afternoon they happily spent with each other:

"_When will I be able to go home with you?_"

Francis froze as a sad expression crossed his face. He raised a weak smile and uttered only two words.

"_I'm sorry._"

Matthew's smile disappeared as Francis slipped out of his grasp and turned his back on him, walking away. The Canadian recalled one arm clutching his polar bear cub, Kumajiro, while Arthur grabbed the other, pulling him back towards his house.

"_Papa! Come back, please! Papa!_" Matthew screamed, hot tears streamed down his face. Francis however didn't take one glance back.

Matthew did wonder that night whether Francis didn't like him anymore. He sobbed in his bedroom for the rest of the day, not coming down for dinner or anything else. He couldn't remember what possessed him to write the poem, he just grabbed a piece of paper, a quill and scribbled his thoughts and feelings desperately. Matthew went to bed after sealing poem in an envelope, with intentions of giving it to Francis when everyone else was asleep. Only, it disappeared the next morning and Matthew hadn't stopped crying that day either.

Matthew would never have thought he would see the poem on paper form in Francis' basement of all places. Nor would he imagine that Francis would have managed to read it. He was sure Arthur would have disposed of it in the fireplace. But there they were, reading every word on that piece of paper in the picture frame in Francis' basement. Finally, the Frenchman broke the long silence.

"I sink we should take a break from cleaning and 'ave some coffee," He suggested and stood to his feet. Matthew snapped out of his trance like state and carried the picture frame with him.

"Yeah. The dust is making my eyes water." Matthew followed his father figure out of the dark room up the stairs and into the bright yellow hallway before stopping. "Um… Francis?"

The Frenchman turned to face his former colony. "Oui?"

Matthew stared at the picture frame before looking at Francis again. "Promise me you'll keep this, eh?"

Francis raised an assuring smile. "Of course," He said, wrapping his arms around the Canadian's frame. "I am your Papa after all." Matthew slipped both arms around the Frenchman. He wondered how and why they were in a hug but it was a nice warm feeling to have; to know that they'll always love each other as a family.

Matthew loved his Papa and he missed him so much.

**FIN.**


End file.
